tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-100039092018-03-05T18:21:06.084-07:00State of ObviousSarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.comBlogger776125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-41987006159487529252018-02-17T22:03:00.003-07:002018-02-17T22:04:57.419-07:00Odds and endsI watched from the corner of my eye as my daughter leaned forward toward the screen.&nbsp; The screen was <i>Black Panther</i>, the newest Marvel superhero movie.&nbsp; We like superhero movies, generally speaking, and have been looking forward to this particular movie.&nbsp; It did not disappoint.<br /><br />But, even more important than that, I watched my daughter watching the movie and felt full.&nbsp; Full of love for her, full of appreciation for a movie that honors her heritage, full of admiration for how well she has accepted herself - even though others have not always.&nbsp; The beautiful costumes and hair, the STRONG and intelligent females, the ease of the language and unspoken respect for each other - all of these sub-messages in a superhero movie were not lost on me.&nbsp; And, as she leaned closer and closer to the screen, engrossed, I knew they were not lost on my girl, either.<br /><br />---<br /><br />For the first time since joining my profession, I legitimately do not feel safe.&nbsp; Friday we spent the morning in active shooter training.&nbsp; It was illuminating and helpful.&nbsp; We had police officers there and we went through scenarios that included firing very loud blank bullets inside the school.&nbsp; And I've come away with that feeling both appreciation for the information and angry that it's necessary.&nbsp; I didn't sign up to be a shield.&nbsp; I don't get hazard pay.&nbsp; I have to think of a way to convey the information I learned to children because it *might* save their life.&nbsp; I know the chances are slim.&nbsp; Very slim.&nbsp; And yet...<br /><br />I can name at least one student who makes me afraid on any given day.<br /><br />---<br /><br />Back in the days I was a part of the Michigan Concert Choir, we learned a song based on Micah 6:6. <br />I have always found this song particularly beautiful and it has stayed in my mind.&nbsp; This morning I had it in my mind as I prepared to go to the Albuquerque LDS Temple with my daughter.&nbsp; When we reached the part that said: "Shall I give Him my first born for my transgressions, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?"...I almost lost it.&nbsp; I miss my son.&nbsp; I miss talking to him and laughing and all the things we used to do together.&nbsp; I'm so grateful for his choice to serve a mission and dedicate two years to his faith.&nbsp; I'm more aware of the sacrifice our Heavenly Father made - not just of His Son, Jesus Christ, but to send us away so that we could become more and better and progress.&nbsp; <br /><br />But, wow, some days that lesson is really hard.<br /><br />"<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: &quot;palatino&quot; , &quot;palatino linotype&quot; , &quot;pahoran&quot; , &quot;georgia&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif; font-size: 18px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.33px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Wherewith shall I come before the </span><span class="deity-name" style="background-attachment: scroll; background-color: transparent; background-image: none; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; border-bottom-color: rgb(51 , 51 , 51); border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-color: rgb(51 , 51 , 51); border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: rgb(51 , 51 , 51); border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: rgb(51 , 51 , 51); border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: &quot;palatino&quot; , &quot;palatino linotype&quot; , &quot;pahoran&quot; , &quot;georgia&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif; font-size: 18px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="small-caps" style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: border-box; background-color: transparent; background-image: none; background-origin: padding-box; background-position-x: 0px; background-position-y: 0px; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; border-bottom-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-image-outset: 0; border-image-repeat: stretch; border-image-slice: 100%; border-image-source: none; border-image-width: 1; border-left-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 18px; font-variant: small-caps; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Lord</span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: &quot;palatino&quot; , &quot;palatino linotype&quot; , &quot;pahoran&quot; , &quot;georgia&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif; font-size: 18px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.33px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">, </span><span class="clarity-word" style="background-attachment: scroll; background-color: transparent; background-image: none; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; border-bottom-color: rgb(51 , 51 , 51); border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-color: rgb(51 , 51 , 51); border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: rgb(51 , 51 , 51); border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: rgb(51 , 51 , 51); border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: &quot;palatino&quot; , &quot;palatino linotype&quot; , &quot;pahoran&quot; , &quot;georgia&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif; font-size: 18px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">and</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-family: &quot;palatino&quot; , &quot;palatino linotype&quot; , &quot;pahoran&quot; , &quot;georgia&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif; font-size: 18px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25.33px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> bow myself before the high God? shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves of a year old?"</span><br /><span style="color: #001000; font-family: &quot;palatino&quot;;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/vuZRz3eaJNE/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/vuZRz3eaJNE?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div><u><span style="color: #000120; font-family: &quot;palatino&quot;;"><br /></span></u><br /><div><br /></div><br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-20397011256134271222018-01-30T20:36:00.000-07:002018-01-30T20:36:41.218-07:00It feels like...<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7k4ACIYiN3o/WnE48bPwK3I/AAAAAAAAHKA/VSlmDPrDRkM3UHTsKaSyWbwe1uudUlygACKgBGAs/s1600/20170622_133810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7k4ACIYiN3o/WnE48bPwK3I/AAAAAAAAHKA/VSlmDPrDRkM3UHTsKaSyWbwe1uudUlygACKgBGAs/s400/20170622_133810.jpg" width="400" /></a>Having an (almost) teenage daughter can be...quite an experience.&nbsp;<br /><br />"I hope you have a kid just like you," so the saying goes.&nbsp; Usually, you only hear this if you're a rough kid.&nbsp; I was a rough kid - in some ways.&nbsp; I gave my mom a pretty hard time.&nbsp; And, if she wished for a kid that was 'just like me' to come along as payback - the parent gods smiled on that wish.<br /><br />Today (after a pretty tragical and frustrating encounter) Carly said: I just needed to get mad at somebody.&nbsp; I don't know why.<br /><br />Well, if that doesn't sum up teenage angst, I don't know what does.<br /><br />It also kind of applies to adult angst.&nbsp; Some days I just want to be mad at somebody and walk around stomping my feet.&nbsp; Today I felt like that.&nbsp; In between good things, though, so at least there's balance.<br /><br />And balance is tricky this days, too.<br /><br />It <i>feels </i>like the house is a wreck (it mostly isn't, but sort of is).<br /><br />It <i>feels </i>like I'm swimming in work and can't catch up (this one is very true).<br /><br />It <i>feels </i>like for every step forward I take, I take 5 steps back - whether that's financial or career-wise or just as myself.<br /><br />It <i>feels </i>like I'll never find that writing spark again.&nbsp; I let it go out - that makes me unbearably sad.<br /><br />It <i>feels </i>like Josh has been in Idaho forever, but it's not quite a year.&nbsp; (I try not to think about how much harder it will be when he moves away from home for reals.&nbsp; Oy.)<br /><br />It <i>feels </i>like I need a vacation, a lottery ticket, a good soft bed, a novel to read, a strong drink (even though I don't drink), a distraction, a good song, a moment alone...<br /><br />The list goes on.<br /><br />It <i>feels </i>like I'm missing something buried somewhere in all this noise of living.<br /><br />Let me know if you stumble upon it, I could use a clue.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-1551457281197310272018-01-15T21:52:00.003-07:002018-01-15T21:52:55.455-07:00I write nonsenseHave you ever felt like there is something waiting there, just out of reach?&nbsp; A thread that's unwinding faster than you can grab on to the end?&nbsp; Like there is something just out of sight and if you turn your head at just the right time, you might finally see it?<br /><br />That's writing for me these days.<br /><br />Reviving ye old blog is an attempt to revive ye old writer, the one who lives somewhere deep down inside.&nbsp;<br /><br />The writer in me ticks like a clock.&nbsp; Most of the time I don't notice the sound.&nbsp; It just IS.<br /><br />Tick tock.<br /><br />But, every now and then, the sound gets loud.&nbsp; Almost deafening, almost drowning out everything else until I have to pay attention to the time.<br /><br />TICK TOCK.<br /><br />It's at that point that I get out the pencils or keyboards or notebooks and begin.&nbsp; I read old stuff and marvel at the problems that riddle my lines.&nbsp; I jot down notes or delete stuff that never came to fruition.&nbsp; I try writing.&nbsp; First blips, then sentences, then paragraphs, or outlines, or pages.&nbsp;<br /><br />But, I'm finding this to be quite the challenge this time.&nbsp; The ends are all unraveled.&nbsp; My attention has been focused so far outside myself for so long that I can't pull it all together.&nbsp;<br /><br />So, for now I write nonsense.&nbsp; Like this.<br /><br />And I listen to that tick-tock-tick-tock rhythm, wondering what it will say.<br /><br />And when.<br /><br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-88200266649411775802017-12-27T00:42:00.000-07:002017-12-27T00:42:18.803-07:00ResolvingMy husband and I decided we need to make a plan.&nbsp; Actually, 4 plans.&nbsp; And, actually - if I'm being honest - it was really my idea and he's just coming along for the ride because that's how it usually goes.&nbsp; And I'm not sure that sounds quite like what I mean.&nbsp; But, I digress.<br /><br />We need 4 plans.&nbsp; We don't have 4 plans and we're not sure what's going to be in those 4 plans.&nbsp; But, right now we're thinking 4 plans.&nbsp;<br /><br />Plan 1: Budget/money/spending.&nbsp; We have struggled with this for all 20 years of our marriage.&nbsp; We've been bailed out, scooped up, helped out ... and still, we struggle.&nbsp; So, this plan is at the top of the list of plans.<br /><br />Plan 2: Shoot - I already forgot plan 2.&nbsp;<br /><br />Plan 3: To move or not to move, that is the question.&nbsp; To move where and how and when?&nbsp; We're leaning a particular direction, but...big decisions are hard.&nbsp; Also, do we store our stuff or get rid of it or move it?<br /><br />Plan 4: Double shoot - I forgot this one too.&nbsp; I think it had to do with getting more fit.&nbsp; Which is just code for pretending to drink more water, walk on the treadmill, and giving up when the scale doesn't change on day 2.&nbsp; Fool-proof.<br /><br />So, I guess for now we need to make 2 plans and try to remember what the other plans actually are.&nbsp; We're off to a fabulous start.<br /><br />See, the thing is, we're good at talking about things like this.&nbsp; And we have super good intentions.&nbsp; I mean, really good.&nbsp;<br /><br />It's our follow through that stinks.&nbsp; It seems like with all the other things that come with age (wrinkles, creaking bones, inability to sleep all night, cranky-get-off-my-lawn tendencies), some follow through would be a nice counter-balance.&nbsp; However, mother nature seems a lot more amused with my age spots and random gray hairs.&nbsp;<br /><br />Woe is me and great gnashing of teeth.<br /><br />I suppose for now I'll have to settle for fear and stress as my great motivators for Plan 1 creation and follow through.&nbsp; They make poor company, but it's a start.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-6445578759646845462017-12-06T21:57:00.001-07:002017-12-06T21:57:07.522-07:00Dear Elder Tario,It's a cold December night and I'm thinking of things I would say if you were here.&nbsp;<br /><br />I might say: I've missed you.<br /><br />or<br /><br />I'm sorry it's been difficult.<br /><br />or<br /><br />Tell me about the good things.<br /><br />or<br /><br />I might say nothing at all.<br /><br />A lot of life is spent saying nothing at all.&nbsp; Sitting in a movie theater or watching TV.&nbsp; Riding in a car.&nbsp; Tonight Carly and I drove home together from Grandma's house, almost all the way in the silence of an audio book.&nbsp; I think she listened to about half.&nbsp; The other half she spent just thinking.<br /><br />I sometimes wonder what internal monologue sounds like to everyone else.&nbsp; I know what mine sounds like.&nbsp; There's a lot of "why'd you do that" reasoning and "I should've said..."&nbsp; It's words, though.&nbsp; Apparently, that internal monologue isn't the same for everyone.&nbsp; What did the monologue sound like before I had words?&nbsp; That's a question I can't answer.&nbsp;<br /><br />The night outside was inky black while we drove, a scattering of pin-prick stars and Christmas lights.&nbsp; Peaceful.&nbsp; The vast darkness of the landscape mirrors the space between moments in my life right now.&nbsp; Pin-pricks of light and stars, with lots of cold space between.&nbsp; Not scary or lonely or even empty, just peaceful.&nbsp; In that black space there is room enough for missing you, though, and wondering.&nbsp; What are you doing and thinking and feeling?&nbsp; Are you okay?&nbsp; In those thoughts, Boise is a million miles away.<br /><br />I've spent my grown-up life working towards now.&nbsp; The now of 40, grown-up son, employment.&nbsp; And although I've been working towards this my whole grown-up life, I'm not ready for it.&nbsp; I'm fumbling my way through.&nbsp; I'm wishing for the confidence to navigate with my eyes wide open, instead I'm stumbling with my eyes half shut.&nbsp; Somehow, it's okay.&nbsp; Somehow, I keep moving.&nbsp; And I guess what I'm trying to say is:<br /><br />Missing you is a reminder of how much I love you.<br /><br />Don't worry if it's difficult.<br /><br />Focus on the good things.<br /><br />Sometimes the best moments are when there is nothing happening at all, like on this cold December night.&nbsp;<br /><br />And everything's okay.<br /><br />Love,<br /><br /><i>Mom</i>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-65154733835969750042017-12-03T23:32:00.000-07:002017-12-03T23:32:16.759-07:00Fragmented re-introduction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rPxIzY049xE/Su1LuoJ7MwI/AAAAAAAAASI/pcYc2MormbMRwudTDuOlBTi2_G9GE01IACPcBGAYYCw/s1600/no%2Blooking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="523" data-original-width="643" height="162" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rPxIzY049xE/Su1LuoJ7MwI/AAAAAAAAASI/pcYc2MormbMRwudTDuOlBTi2_G9GE01IACPcBGAYYCw/s200/no%2Blooking.jpg" title="" width="200" /></a>I dreamed a dream once of what this would be like.&nbsp; Of life.&nbsp; Of patterns and songs and ticking off boxes to find my way.&nbsp;<br /><br />Trouble was, I keep looking at the wrong list.<br /><br />This year's list:<br /><br />- Turn 40 (check)<br />- Move again (check)<br />- Send the boy on a mission (check)<br />- Finish admin license<br />- Get lost (check)<br />- Get found (check)<br />- Lost again (check)<br /><br />Wait, that went off track.&nbsp;<br /><br />Adulthood is a lot of getting off track.&nbsp; And back on.&nbsp; It's weird.<br /><br />I thought at 40, I would have it all together.<br /><br />But, I'm barely keeping it from falling apart.&nbsp;<br /><br />Weird.<br /><br />So, this is me where I am now.<br /><br />40, working, waiting.&nbsp; My boy's on a mission in Boise.&nbsp; My girl's 12 going on 20.&nbsp; My husband hates his job most days, and loves it alternatively.&nbsp; Same for me.&nbsp; We live in a small town I don't like very much and dream of going somewhere else, but we don't know where that is.&nbsp;<br /><br />I want to be a writer, but I don't spend time writing.<br /><br />I read something the other day that gave me hope: Guy Fieri discoved Flavor Town at 45.&nbsp;<br /><br />I'm not 45 yet, so I've got time.<br /><br /><br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-57215041943718312222015-10-04T21:12:00.001-06:002015-10-04T21:12:28.140-06:00Oh, boy<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wCuQG661nIs/VhHppO5M49I/AAAAAAAABvc/u8ZHL-2wapY/s1600/1Josh%2B043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wCuQG661nIs/VhHppO5M49I/AAAAAAAABvc/u8ZHL-2wapY/s400/1Josh%2B043.jpg" width="266" /></a>So this is seventeen.<br /><div><br /></div><div>It's charm and silence and sighs.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's longer legs and towering above my head.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's venturing out alone in a car.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's struggling and succeeding. &nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div>It's struggling and failing.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's beauty in small moments and watching TV together.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's independence and complete dependence.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's being sure and being completely lost.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>In many ways, seventeen is nothing new. &nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div>He's still him, and I'm still me. &nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div>In many ways, seventeen is nothing I've ever known.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's a strange feeling in my heart, in this space that he occupies, in this chamber, in this place.</div><div><br /></div><div>My own seventeen was a lot more mystery, a lot more self doubt, a lot more fear.</div><div><br /></div><div>My own seventeen was painful and strange.</div><div><br /></div><div>And so this new seventeen is scary, too.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's letting go, even though I'm not ready.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's holding on for dear life.</div><div><br /></div><div><br />So, this is seventeen.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-17GJG2_Jnos/VhHpoCDA0QI/AAAAAAAABvU/6onmMtPM6tI/s1600/1Josh%2B062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-17GJG2_Jnos/VhHpoCDA0QI/AAAAAAAABvU/6onmMtPM6tI/s320/1Josh%2B062.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />&nbsp;*Photos by Payneless Photography</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-33529648342882974342015-08-29T21:22:00.000-06:002015-08-29T21:22:16.237-06:00Sounds in the blackI'm in the well. &nbsp;The deep well of what have I done.<br />Below me echoes the sound of a thousand feet of<br />blank air. <br />Above me, light fades to a pinprick. &nbsp;On all sides<br />are the slick, slimy bricks<br />built to hold back the earth,<br />to keep it from caving in,<br />to create a passage for bringing water from below. <br /><br />Once, I looked over into my child's face<br />and saw myself staring back. &nbsp;Saw the insecurities<br />and pride,<br />the wonder and alarm. &nbsp;It was strange and yet - satisfying. <br />I've created immortality, it flows in his veins. &nbsp;And yet,<br />he is his own self. &nbsp;A self I have always known. &nbsp;He is both new<br />and old at the same time, a million years of love and change<br />meeting in the moment of conception. &nbsp;Lives won and lost,<br />all leading to the here and now. &nbsp;Looking over,<br />I see him as if distantly.<br /><br />It sounds like nonsense, these words with no form. <br />These thoughts that pour out like ink on the page. &nbsp;It sounds like<br />too much<br />thinking and not enough sleeping. &nbsp;It sounds strange. &nbsp;I'm sorry for that,<br />mostly because, if I could,<br />I would let you in. &nbsp;Or let you pull me up from the silence. <br />Or, stand up<br />on my own. &nbsp;I am not sad,<br />though it may sound that I am,<br />only thinking and waiting<br />here in the depths of the day. <br /><br />Outside, there are sounds in the black. &nbsp;Crickets and singing beetles<br />and dogs. &nbsp;A glimmer of wind, a shifting of stars, and a thousand years<br />of nothing,<br />a million years of everything. <br />Someday I'll be like that glimmer,<br />barely a brushing of wind,<br />I'll be gone,<br />like wishes<br />dropped down<br />the deep<br />well.<br /><br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-36011402568821225152015-08-24T19:03:00.000-06:002015-08-24T19:03:31.435-06:00Hello? Is it me you're looking for?You know when you see someone again and it's been, like, forever, and you're not really even sure that you're getting their name right and you wonder WHAT on EARTH they've done to their hair/face/body/children and you can't quite find the right words to fill the gap between time and space?<div><br /></div><div>My second year of teaching is just beginning - and isn't that a wonder? &nbsp;Last year...let's just say, we all survived. &nbsp;Last year involved:</div><div><br /></div><div>- Commuting home (2 hours, one way) almost every weekend</div><div>- The kids and I here (in Espanola, where I teach) while Eric stayed in Edgewood</div><div>- Putting our (still for sale) house on the market</div><div>- Two semesters of Master's classes (what was I thinking??? on the up side, I only have 1 semester left and I am DONE. &nbsp;D. O. N. E.)</div><div>- Saturday's spent in professional development</div><div>- My first ever "work trip" to San Diego&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div>And this year:</div><div><br /></div><div>- Josh is a Senior (whuuuut!)</div><div>- Carly started 5th grade</div><div>- We all live here in Espanola (double WHUT?)</div><div>- We're 2 weeks into school and I'm already doubting my life choices again.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Look, the truth is, last year was rough. &nbsp;But, this year is looking up. &nbsp;And maybe, just maybe, I might have time to update the blog again. &nbsp;Time will tell. &nbsp;Unless and until that happens, enjoy this picture of a llama.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-164Eqwdt_3k/Vdu-oDRfw8I/AAAAAAAABs4/rsdKOANwTDo/s1600/IMG_20150721_100156394.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-164Eqwdt_3k/Vdu-oDRfw8I/AAAAAAAABs4/rsdKOANwTDo/s320/IMG_20150721_100156394.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Just kidding. &nbsp;It's a herd of baboons.&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-30386825355838656572014-08-16T09:47:00.000-06:002014-08-16T09:55:09.030-06:00On being away from home and turning sixteen: a letter to my sonDear Josh,<br />&nbsp;<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NujbvpgMJQ8/U-9-Fk8N2yI/AAAAAAAABnQ/GmJSguluiTA/s1600/P1018282.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NujbvpgMJQ8/U-9-Fk8N2yI/AAAAAAAABnQ/GmJSguluiTA/s1600/P1018282.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>I missed your sixteenth birthday. &nbsp;I'm sure you recall - or maybe it wasn't so bad because you spent the whole day with your friend watching movies. &nbsp;Godzilla and Guardians of the Galaxy, you've said. &nbsp;It's no surprise to me that Godzilla was your favorite of the two. &nbsp;That atomic green monster holds a special place in your heart.<br /><br />It was very difficult for me to be away from you when you crossed this threshold in your life. &nbsp;I remember turning sixteen, being sixteen, and wondering when I would feel like I was actually sixteen. &nbsp;When I was sixteen, I went and found my first job, I started driving myself around, and I pretty much felt like I was in the wrong skin. &nbsp;I'm only now, at 37, beginning to feel in the right skin. &nbsp;Or at least comfortable with the skin I'm in. &nbsp;But you - well, you don't seem to have a problem being you. &nbsp;I can't explain how very happy that makes me feel, how very reassured. &nbsp;Because it can be really hard not to like yourself. &nbsp;When I see that you do like yourself, most of the time, I feel like maybe I didn't totally screw this mom thing up, like maybe - somehow - despite all the missed moments, raised voices, frustrations, and mistakes, I did okay (so far). &nbsp;Like maybe, after all, loving you was enough to make up the difference for what I've done wrong.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RQU0T6PKId4/U-9-F64P60I/AAAAAAAABnU/gRf35bNcecM/s1600/P1018272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RQU0T6PKId4/U-9-F64P60I/AAAAAAAABnU/gRf35bNcecM/s1600/P1018272.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>Sixteen marks a turning point for me, too. &nbsp;I can feel the clock ticking now, drawing you ever closer to the edge of my nest. &nbsp;Your wings are almost too big to keep folded and you're testing them out, stretching them before the big leap over the side. &nbsp;You're almost through high school and you're planning and waiting to serve your mission. &nbsp;You're driving sometimes and taking more responsibility for your actions and health. &nbsp;You're taller than all of us, by far, and still going. &nbsp;Your voice has gone deeper, your eyes more thoughtful, and you've started planning your first date. &nbsp;At times it is hard for me to resolve the two pictures of you that I hold in my mind: the you that once fit in the hollow of my arms, and the you that can now hold me in yours. &nbsp;And it's wonderfully bittersweet.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZcolayVe6m4/U-9-GP2X3BI/AAAAAAAABnY/mdPpSarletg/s1600/P1018264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZcolayVe6m4/U-9-GP2X3BI/AAAAAAAABnY/mdPpSarletg/s1600/P1018264.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>This week, off on my own taking care of other people's kids, I ached inside for my children. &nbsp;For your sweet, silly self and your sister. &nbsp;For the arguments and teasing, for the messes and noise. &nbsp;A week away from home made me realize just how very blessed I truly am, made me see that all I ever need is right here in this place where I call you son, and you call me mother, and we belong to each other. &nbsp;The days and weeks and months and years will roll on, without stopping, and though soon (sooner than I'm prepared for) you'll leap from this nest and take flight, I will still keep this place for you. &nbsp;Here, in the hollow of my heart, where you were born.<br /><br />Love,<br /><i><br /></i><i>Mom</i>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-16486375158541680832014-08-04T21:07:00.002-06:002014-08-06T12:46:30.004-06:00Dear Carly (on your 9th birthday),<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NTEJNUw00PY/U-BHQXhqTvI/AAAAAAAABjw/UPVpy-NWMgY/s1600/2014-08-02+12.56.11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NTEJNUw00PY/U-BHQXhqTvI/AAAAAAAABjw/UPVpy-NWMgY/s1600/2014-08-02+12.56.11.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a>&nbsp;I can't remember what it is like to turn nine years old. &nbsp;From watching you turn nine, it must have been difficult because it seems like everything is either really, really greator really, really bad. &nbsp;Some days I think I might get whiplash from the mood swings (and you're not a teenager yet!). &nbsp; But overall, I think nine must also be really wonderful. &nbsp;You seem to be full of joy, even moments after being full of woe. &nbsp;It's as if the joy just pushes the other stuff out. &nbsp;It practically oozes from your pores. &nbsp;More than that, on the days you choose to be happy, the whole world sings with you. &nbsp;People are infected by it, drawn in to your sweet smile and shining eyes. &nbsp;Attracted like bugs to a light. &nbsp;You shine, dear little diva, so brightly sometimes it's blinding.<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZVw3oI7o1YI/U-BHQX8ZhUI/AAAAAAAABjs/isxQXKYUzEQ/s1600/2014-08-02+12.56.17+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZVw3oI7o1YI/U-BHQX8ZhUI/AAAAAAAABjs/isxQXKYUzEQ/s1600/2014-08-02+12.56.17+(1).jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a>We just spent three weeks together in California, and I must have complained too much about your behavior because your dad believes we are oil and water right now. &nbsp;I'd prefer to see us as oil and vinegar - spicy, but delicious when combined correctly. &nbsp;Yes, sometimes I do believe we slide right off each other and bounce around listlessly, unable to combine. &nbsp;But, other times I can almost see inside your head to what you're thinking of doing next - in fact, your Aunt Cha Cha and I were able to predict your next actions with a fairly high rate of accuracy some days. &nbsp;For all that I might have been frustrated or that I might have complained, I was also really proud of you and happy to be with you. &nbsp;Before we left for California, someone told me that you had the nicest manners and were so polite. &nbsp;They told me that parents/aunts/uncles/grandparents/etc don't seem to spend enough time teaching their kids how to behave, but you were so "well-spoken." &nbsp;And, yes, I agree. &nbsp;Okay, so maybe you forget to say please as often as you might - and thank you - but overall, I think you're a pretty nice girl. &nbsp;Also a pretty, nice girl. &nbsp;The distinction is important. &nbsp;We can have all sorts of things in life - clothes, looks, money, friends - and we can be all sorts of things in life - kind, rich, silly, strange, funny, mean, crazy. &nbsp;Most of us are some of those things in combination. &nbsp;But, if you can be kind, if you can be thoughtful, if you can be generous and faithful - those things will mean much more than any of the rest, I think.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wZLyWBKfRwg/U-BHTioEQPI/AAAAAAAABkE/QBN-wwFwy68/s1600/2014-08-02+12.56.19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wZLyWBKfRwg/U-BHTioEQPI/AAAAAAAABkE/QBN-wwFwy68/s1600/2014-08-02+12.56.19.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a>As I often do on your birthday, I think back to your entry to this world. &nbsp;I think about how I didn't know you were here yet, and how I wish I could have known. &nbsp;I think about holding you the first time, not on this day, but later. &nbsp;I think about how I missed the moment where you first blinked and looked out into a wide world that now you are exploring, making your own. &nbsp;Your birthdays are bittersweet, but I am so grateful for each one. &nbsp;For each day that I can hold you close, push back the hair from your face, look into your eyes and see myself reflected. &nbsp;If we are oil and water (or oil and vinegar), it is mostly because you are so very much like me. &nbsp;Stubborn and rash, dramatic and controlling, silly and creative, wishful and sometimes shy. &nbsp;We share these and more, little things maybe. &nbsp;Perhaps we cannot, do not, will not, share eye color or the shape of our nose. &nbsp;Instead, we share the little things that make up the shape of our souls.<br /><br />Tonight, as you sit next to me playing with a collection of birthday toys, I can only think to say how lucky I am, how grateful I am for all that you were, all that you are, all that you will be. &nbsp;I am grateful for each hour, day, month, and year we spend. &nbsp;I am grateful for ties that go beyond blood and the rough road that winds behind and before us. &nbsp;I am grateful for all this. &nbsp;I am grateful for you.<br /><br />All my love,<br /><br /><i>Mom</i>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-55645596562087676642014-07-30T03:02:00.000-06:002014-07-30T03:02:33.449-06:00Workin' It: A List with AddendumsThis summer, instead of blogging (which, let's be honest, I haven't been doing much when it's not summer. &nbsp;But, I digress), I have been:<br /><br />- Job hunting (found one!)<br />- Having repeated teacher nightmares (one last night!)<br />- Looking for free resources to use in my classroom (need more!)<br />- Watching too much TV (an accomplishment given that we only have about five channels!)<br />- Building an addiction to Longmire (hooray for Amazon Prime and Netflix!)<br />- Not cleaning the house much (who cares!)<br />- Visiting California (first world problems!)<br />- Scrapbook shop hopping with my sister (charms ahoy!)<br />- Wondering where Carly's next mood swing will take me (and she's not even a teenager!)<br />- Freaking out about how tall Josh suddenly seems to be (holy cow!)<br />- Questioning so many of my life decisions that they've all started to swim together into one (yikes!)<br />- Reading too much BuzzFeed (see above!)<br />- Eating an unusually large quantity of cinnamon gummy bears (I blame my sister!)<br />- Being glad about the little things like sharing with my sister (see above!)<br />- Eating too much (Volcano!)<br />- Doing a really bad job of making lists (like this one!)<br /><br />And that brings us to today.<br /><br />You're welcome.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-37971776619362880982014-06-08T01:14:00.000-06:002014-06-08T01:14:55.105-06:00So, you want to be a writerI am currently looking for a job (you hiring? &nbsp;No? &nbsp;too bad...). &nbsp;It's an interesting experience. &nbsp;Technically, I have been offered one position so far, but I had to turn it down. &nbsp;Because, seriously, I can't move my family a few hundred miles south to a place with little to no housing that happens to also smell like over-cooked beans if you are going to pay me a ridiculously low salary to teach kids all day long...Oh wait, I got off track.<br /><br />So, I keep applying at various places and hoping for a call. &nbsp;(Funny story, another school down south in the same town that already offered me a job called me for an interview...goodness.) &nbsp;Otherwise, so far I've had one email saying basically 'thanks and we'll be in touch when we start interviewing' which was better than the non-response from all the others. &nbsp;It's gotten me to thinking - maybe, just maybe, I don't really want a job and so I keep putting non-job vibes out into the universe. &nbsp;And instead of picking up on the oh-gosh-my-family-needs-me-to-have-a-job vibes, the universe is picking up the oh-gosh-I-want-to-write-not-teach vibes. <br /><br />I do really want to write and be paid for it. &nbsp;I do, I do. <br /><br />Problem is, I don't, I don't. &nbsp;Write, that is. &nbsp;Not as much as I could or should. &nbsp;I dabble in it, despite my previous commitments to it otherwise. &nbsp;I'm proud to say my dabbling was twice published this spring, quite flattering. &nbsp;But, neither paid. &nbsp;My dabbling has me to about 28,000 words of a YA fantasy novel I've been working on for nine years (I keep count by Carly's age because I started it just before she arrived). &nbsp;I've also got another novel in the works. &nbsp;And another young reader fiction book stewing. &nbsp;And a picture book that needs illustrating by someone talented. &nbsp;And an idea for another YA novel. &nbsp;And another young reader novel. &nbsp;Some of these have been vetted here. &nbsp;And some haven't. &nbsp;(Are you interested in being a reader and giving actual feedback because it would really help me to have some outside perspective? &nbsp;No? &nbsp;Moving on...)<br /><br />Thing is, I'm scared. &nbsp;Ruled by fear. &nbsp;What if people don't like what I write? &nbsp;What if I can't finish the story. &nbsp;What if no publishers think it's worthwhile to sell? &nbsp;What if I really just don't have it in me to write something beautiful? &nbsp;Does it have to be beautiful? &nbsp;What if I never make it? &nbsp;Is this all wasted time? &nbsp;Wasted words? <br /><br />Anything worth doing is worth risking, perhaps. &nbsp;I'm trying hard not to be afraid. &nbsp;And I'm trying hard to sit down and write for more than 10 minutes at a time. &nbsp;I'm thinking about how to make myself a real office space where I go "work" (because the couch doesn't work for "work"). &nbsp;And, despite all the fear, I'm fairly positively sure that I want to be a writer, and perhaps a teacher on the side. <br /><br />It's the how of making that happen that's tripping me up.<br /><br />That, and the fear. Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-5475008203526559842014-05-11T23:25:00.001-06:002014-05-11T23:25:23.721-06:00SearchingPeople move through our lives in often very small and simple ways. &nbsp;Sometimes we meet for a moment, an hour, a week, a year, a decade. &nbsp;We make friends, lose friends, remain friends though distance pulls us apart. &nbsp;We affect others. &nbsp;That means act upon, cause, change. &nbsp;The effect is what comes after. &nbsp;It's the ripples and waves that follow the storm. &nbsp;Or the warmth that follows the sun rising. &nbsp;The chill that follows its setting.<br />Here I am at the end of another semester. &nbsp;Closing things up, putting things aside that never got done. &nbsp;This time, I have an unsettled feeling, everything in limbo. &nbsp;I'm not sure what's next and it's very hard to sit back and wait for the future to come. &nbsp;Every hour, every moment rolling closer like a train on it's track during a midnight ride. &nbsp;I cannot see the horizon, only these tracks right in front of me as I push on forward.<br />And it's scary.<br />I'm supposed to wait upon the Lord. &nbsp;I'm sorry for not warning you I might wax religious. &nbsp;It's difficult for me to separate my every day from the un-explainable right now because right now, I'm in the dark. &nbsp;I've gotten used to being in the light, to planning every next step carefully - or at least, having some sort of idea of what lies ahead. &nbsp;I like order, I like predictability, I like routine (to a certain extent). &nbsp;And everything is in chaos. &nbsp;All around me, pieces of everyday things are littered like so much confetti - only I'm not celebrating. &nbsp;Not yet.<br />I know this doesn't make much sense, and I'm not really sorry for that. &nbsp;Sometimes life doesn't make much sense. &nbsp;Death certainly seems to make less.<br />My husband and I were talking last night about mortality. <br />"This better all be worth it," he said, meaning life, this thing we're doing.<br />And I realized, first, that I think it <i>is </i>all worth it. &nbsp;And second, that mortality has a very high price. &nbsp;We pay for this thing called life in ways that seem impossible. &nbsp;In joy, in sorrow, in pain and fear, in passion and principles, in suffering, in confusion, in prayer. &nbsp;We drop these things like pennies into the bucket of experience, tallying them up until we've created an experience, until we've <i>lived</i>. &nbsp;And sometimes, that living doesn't seem like enough. &nbsp;Like maybe it was cut too short. &nbsp;Like maybe it was just too hard.<br />But, that's only because we can't see past the now. &nbsp;There IS more than this, more than these moments, more than these prices we've paid. &nbsp;We don't stop here, we keep going. &nbsp;We follow that sun past it's setting and we see it rise again, illuminating that tracks that lead on and on until we are filled with true life, with glorious expectation, with peace. <br /><br />--<br /><br />For Jake.<br /><br />A story unfinished<br />A book half-filled with white pages<br />Clean sheets<br />A sentence part written<br />left incomplete<br /><br />A story unfinished<br />Characters in mid-motion<br />Sounds left unsaid<br />Music still playing<br />Answers un-spoken<br />silence instead<br /><br />A story unfinished<br />The mighty warrior still armed<br />Hope burning bright<br />His weapon held high<br />Battle cry in his throat<br />victory nigh<br /><br />And yet, it's not over<br />There are words to be written<br />Pages to fill<br />The warrior fights still.<br />A story unfinished<br />playing onSarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-58627594515281126112014-04-14T00:10:00.000-06:002014-04-14T00:12:29.031-06:00In the silent hoursThe house is still, though it never seems to be exactly silent. &nbsp;Always there is a buzz, a sigh, a whirl. &nbsp;Fans spinning or washing machines, dogs snoring or people turning over. &nbsp;In the night, we are at our most vulnerable. &nbsp;And yet, we trust.<br /><br />In my heart there is a persistence of hope during these silent hours. &nbsp;It changes from day to day, that <i>thing </i>I hope for. &nbsp;Some days it is a small hope for better weather or maybe some rain. &nbsp;Other days, it is a heavy burden holding me down and I just want it to float away. &nbsp;I turn this way and that, searching searching, I'm not sure what for. &nbsp;I keep wondering when I'll find <i>it</i>, that <i>thing </i>that makes the pieces come together in the right order. &nbsp;I often think that, perhaps, that <i>thing </i>is already here and I've just gotten really good at ignoring it. &nbsp;Whatever <i>IT </i>is.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pFj8FFJb58I/U0t7THGnudI/AAAAAAAABhk/prn0Yp-eeUI/s1600/P8030219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pFj8FFJb58I/U0t7THGnudI/AAAAAAAABhk/prn0Yp-eeUI/s1600/P8030219.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>In these silent hours, mind spinning and thoughts a blur, I let my body slow down into that pattern of just before sleep. &nbsp;Heavy eyes, beating heart, aching bones. &nbsp;I look into the darkened rooms and outline their sleeping shapes under blankets. &nbsp;Sweet faces mellowed by the dreams they're having. &nbsp;Carly likes to turn over, talking all the way in half-made sentences. &nbsp;Tonight it was something about money, I think. &nbsp;Josh likes to bend himself into impossible angles, head and feet out of whack. &nbsp;The silent dark surrounds them, buries them, cradles them. &nbsp;And through it, they trust.<br /><br />A funny thing, this sleeping silent world. &nbsp;I am at once grateful and annoyed. &nbsp;I search for order and perfection, finding very little and also very much. &nbsp;A paradox. &nbsp;I'm just beginning to know this friend/enemy called paradox. &nbsp;It's hard to live with. &nbsp;Some slow, silent nights I am almost eaten alive by it. &nbsp;By the waiting and the wishing and the wanting, all unsatisfied. &nbsp;I am troubled by it, finding my faith on shaky ground, finding my hope eroded away. &nbsp;In the midnight hour, I look this paradox in the face and find more questions there. &nbsp;And still, I trust.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-34479656715386766322014-04-08T22:16:00.001-06:002014-04-08T22:16:24.408-06:00On turning 37Dear me,<br /><br />I'd like to say a few words about what this day means. &nbsp;This day of birth wherein I (you?) entered the world some thirty seven years ago, asleep. &nbsp;Yes, asleep. &nbsp;And still trying to catch up where I left off when so rudely interrupted by a smack on the behind.<br /><br />I'd like to say there is some magic formula or perfect sentence that sums up what it means to advance another year older and wiser, but if anything I've learned that most days (including birthdays) go on basically like the ones before. &nbsp;Sure, there are the frilly types of days mixed in: celebrations, births, surprises, and the like. &nbsp;But, really it all mixes together into memory-soup and it's hard to separate the strands.<br /><br />The year of thirty-six was spent largely learning to become a teacher. &nbsp;Interestingly enough, I learned that I already pretty much am one (a teacher) and that there is a lot more fuss and bother than actual teaching on some days. &nbsp;(Freshman - need I say more? (Okay, maybe I do - freshman are like tiny little humans who haven't grown into their heads yet (both figuratively and physically.))). &nbsp;I've learned some things about myself in the process of learning to teach. &nbsp;Mainly, I am more patient with other people's kids. &nbsp;Fascinating and alarming, to be sure. &nbsp;I've tried to bring this patience home with me, but there are days when I just can't/won't/can't. &nbsp;I've also learned that I don't much like the nuts and bolts of paperwork, planning (planning, planning), getting kids to be-quiet-already-I-don't-know-how-to-make-you-shut-up, and starting over tomorrow. &nbsp;I keep reminding myself that teaching secondary school is only meant to be a step up and out into post-secondary school. &nbsp;I find myself wondering if I have the stamina. &nbsp;I also find myself wondering why I don't just get to it and write something. &nbsp;Do you know the answer?<br /><br />This year of thirty-six also involved watching my (your?) children grow with alarming rate. &nbsp;That day your son officially gets taller than you (and then keeps going so that you have to look up to make eye contact) - it's a little disturbing. &nbsp;But also, exhilarating. &nbsp;As in, "I did that" or "he made it this far despite my doing that!" &nbsp;If that makes sense. &nbsp;And your girl, your lovely crazy curious girl, well she's not a baby anymore. &nbsp;How did that happen? &nbsp;When I look at her, I feel inadequate. &nbsp;Will that ever go away? &nbsp;Just today she was asking me about the colors of her skin ("Why are my hands a different color on the bottom side?") and about an ant that was carrying a paper clip. &nbsp;A paper clip!? &nbsp;In my head, I just had a metaphorical moment wherein she is the ant carrying the paper clip...but, that's another story for another day.<br /><br />Some notes to self in closing (lest I run off the tracks and never find a conclusion to write):<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GxpqPXbzJkw/U0TI18zfyxI/AAAAAAAABhE/take3VEnfuM/s1600/P8090317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GxpqPXbzJkw/U0TI18zfyxI/AAAAAAAABhE/take3VEnfuM/s1600/P8090317.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>- First, be kind. &nbsp;To others, to your family, to yourself. <br />- Second, stop and take in the moment. &nbsp;Things are blurry because you haven't put them in focus.<br />- Third, you can do hard things. &nbsp;Look how far you've come!<br />- Last, there will always be things you want to change, but can't. &nbsp;Be happy with what you have, even when what you have feels like it's not enough. &nbsp;You can be happy anywhere - if you choose it.<br /><br />Happy birthday!<br /><br />Love,<br /><i><br /></i><i>Me</i>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-38119860713371256742014-02-22T23:50:00.000-07:002014-02-22T23:50:41.559-07:00Testimony, in pieces<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qDv2XlVMT4E/UwmaAivDBGI/AAAAAAAABgM/4gcC-PWFYQ0/s1600/P1017925.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qDv2XlVMT4E/UwmaAivDBGI/AAAAAAAABgM/4gcC-PWFYQ0/s1600/P1017925.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>The vast blue sky<br />And golden rays<br />Turtle dove songs outside my window<br />The smell of freshly washed hair<br />My daughter's soft skin<br />Brown eyes<br /><br />A roof that hasn't leaked<br />A painted picture of the sea<br />The taste of beans and chile<br />Clanging heater vents, alive with warm air<br />Rosy, heart-shaped lips<br />Chocolate<br /><br />The ocean pulsing on the sand<br />White snow laid freshly down<br />Skeleton arms of trees<br />Dogs barking over the cat's meow<br />A quilt made of favorite shirts<br />And dreams.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-628430492640349372014-01-09T12:31:00.001-07:002014-01-09T12:31:53.795-07:00Remembering<div class="MsoNormal">For George<br /><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I see him in the trees<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Tall and strong, gangly limbs that try to touch the sky<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">“Be strong,” they say<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">“Stand tall,” they tell me<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">“Reach.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I see him in the river<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Always moving, changing fast, full of stories<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">“Keep going,” it rumbles<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">“Cut new paths,” it beckons<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">“Search.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I see him in the birds<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">The cunning hawk, the splendid eagle, the curious sparrow<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">“Fly farther,” they call<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">“Hunt far and wide,” they sing<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">“Soar.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I see him in adobe<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">In the gentle carvings of a rough, strong hand<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">In quiet rooms of light<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">In many windows facing east</div><div class="MsoNormal">To sunrise.<o:p></o:p><br /><br /><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fb2G3XOyWv8/Us73TKoxd_I/AAAAAAAABfs/9WWsUz9DQRU/s1600/img029-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fb2G3XOyWv8/Us73TKoxd_I/AAAAAAAABfs/9WWsUz9DQRU/s1600/img029-001.jpg" height="283" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-56038365492948341152014-01-07T23:01:00.000-07:002014-01-07T23:01:41.955-07:00There's a lot of money to be made for a romance writer...There once was a pirate named Steve. He was quite nice, as pirates go, and liked to run (or shall I say, hop) all about town shouting out things like:<br />"Arr! There be me favorite silver spoon!"<br />and<br />"Arrggh! &nbsp;I've lost me contact lens!"<br /><br />I didn't say he was a good pirate.<br /><br />Anyhow, one day Steve was out and about, hopping here and there, when suddenly his patch fell off. &nbsp;His eye - where else would he have a patch? &nbsp;The onlookers were shocked to see that Steve had a wooden eye behind that patch. &nbsp;It was rolling around in the socket, slivers of wood blinking like splintery eyelashes as he fumbled for his lost patch. &nbsp;One of the shocked onlookers took pity on poor pirate Steve and picked up the patch with two skinny fingers. &nbsp;Her name was Delly - the helpful onlooker, not the patch.<br />"I've found your patch," she said, helpfully, dangling the patch in front of Steve's good, non-splintery eye. <br />"Me patch?!" said Steve, reaching for it. &nbsp;But, he missed because he didn't have very good depth perception.<br />"Your patch," she affirmed, grabbing him by the wrist and putting the patch in his palm.<br />"Aww, you're a sweet wee lass," he said with a grin even though Delly was anything but wee. &nbsp;In fact, she was quite large with a billowing pink skirt and a yellow scarf over her shoulders. &nbsp;She kind of hurt to look at, truth be told, with her bright clashing colors, four missing teeth, and razor sharp curls standing up straight. <br />She blushed all over at pirate Steve's words, which made it difficult to tell where her skin gave off and her skirt began.<br />Steve blushed too as he pushed his patch into place. &nbsp;The onlookers moved hastily on, averting their eyes from his now-crooked patch and Delly's bright face. &nbsp;But, Steve and Delly - they didn't move on, they moved in. <br />And that, my loves, is a pirate romance.<br /><br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-13555086333459308692014-01-03T00:16:00.000-07:002014-01-03T00:16:21.140-07:00Resolving<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://brunswickplantationliving.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/new-years-resolution-be-more-awesome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" src="http://brunswickplantationliving.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/new-years-resolution-be-more-awesome.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>I, along with much of the world, have been thinking about my goals for the coming year. &nbsp;I made a list and it was pretty broad, but also pretty do-able. &nbsp;On purpose. &nbsp;The one thing that bothers me when these resolutions roll around is just how full of failure they are, often by implication or by comparison to the list from last year. &nbsp;We (general society we) often laugh because we only made it a few hours, days, weeks, months into our resolutions. &nbsp;And then we fall back into old habits. &nbsp;We (that general we again) forget just how hard it is to change ourselves. &nbsp;Have you ever tried to reshape a rock? &nbsp;That's us, right there, rocks. &nbsp;Round and hard and set in stone. &nbsp;But, changeable over time.<br /><br />This year I made my list AFTER I thought about my successes from last year. &nbsp;I did not bother recounting my failures, though there were assuredly many. &nbsp;Instead, I looked back (as objectively as I could) and decided it really wasn't so bad after all. &nbsp;I graduated from college (a long time, hard fought goal); I yelled a little less and gained a new appreciation for what soft words can do; I am 15 pounds lighter than I was in January 2013 (a small success, but I choose to see it as one rather than bothering to calculate how much I didn't lose); I've written more and submitted more for publication; I've visited some places I've never seen. &nbsp;All in all, not a bad year. &nbsp;Sure there are things that did not get accomplished, but I barely remember them. &nbsp;As my dad likes to say, "Are you better off than you were five years ago?" &nbsp;Yes, in most ways I am. &nbsp;In enough ways. <br /><br />Enough. &nbsp;That's a funny word. &nbsp;One I've written about before. &nbsp;That's probably what my resolutions for this year center on - being enough. &nbsp;I've resolved (again) to yell less and speak more softly. &nbsp;I've resolved (again) to shrink my debt and my waist. &nbsp;I've resolved (again) to do well in school and try my best. &nbsp;I've resolved (again) to take more risks/chances/opportunities. &nbsp;That's a hard one for me. &nbsp;But, I've also resolved to look for ways to fall in love with my husband over again. &nbsp;To give myself a break when I can't get everything done. &nbsp;To say nicer things about the mother of my children. &nbsp;To give others the benefit of the doubt more often than not. &nbsp;To accept compliments more gracefully. &nbsp;These are all resolutions I can keep if I want to. &nbsp;I might not do them perfectly or even every day, but at the end of the year I hope I can look back and see success again. &nbsp;I hope I can see that I've done enough to move forward, even a little bit.<br /><br />Happy reNew Year!<br /><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.jackeddad.com/tag/new-years-resolution/" target="_blank">image here</a></span>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-35294414124395853942013-12-20T23:48:00.000-07:002013-12-20T23:48:00.599-07:00Santometer 2013: My gift to youI know you all wait the whole year for this special post. &nbsp;Let me assure you, this year it's really good. &nbsp;Unattainable, but good. &nbsp;Without further ado, my Christmas list:<br /><br />1. A new sofa, something sort of like this:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.poundex.com/ProductPhotos/p3445_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://www.poundex.com/ProductPhotos/p3445_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This isn't exactly right, because I'd also like it to have recliners - but I don't want an overstuffed, lumpy back end looking sofa. &nbsp;Basically, it probably doesn't exist and if it does, I certainly can't afford it. &nbsp;But, Carly keeps asking for a Barbie dream house too, so I figure why not aim high?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Santometer says: Even you know it's not possible.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2. This, so much this:&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://cardiction.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/2014-ford-edge-picture-wallpaper-ford-1205073709.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://cardiction.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/2014-ford-edge-picture-wallpaper-ford-1205073709.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the interest of full disclosure, I shall disclose that I had a Ford Edge before. &nbsp;And it was my most very favorite car that I've ever owned/driven/ridden in. &nbsp;I hope to someday repeat the experience. &nbsp;Hopefully this whole educating myself to get a job plan will yield one in the future. &nbsp;But if not...maybe a hotwheels version?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Santometer says: Ho Ho No.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3. &nbsp;This beauty:&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://moodringcolorss.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/Opal-Engagement-Ring-Review.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="167" src="http://moodringcolorss.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/Opal-Engagement-Ring-Review.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">True story: my sister bought me a gold opal ring similar to this for my high school graduation. &nbsp;It is/was one of my most prized possessions and favorite pieces of jewelry. &nbsp;Somehow, in one of our moves, it got lost along with a bunch of other jewelry that belonged to Eric's mom. &nbsp;Much regret and sadness have accompanied their loss.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Santometer says: You didn't even hang on to the first one you had! &nbsp;Seriously!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">4. &nbsp;I recently discovered a new website called Fancy. &nbsp;And while there are a great many things there that could be on the list this year, <a href="http://fancy.com/things/509297324694969220/Moravian-Star-Accent-Lamp" target="_blank">this</a>&nbsp;particularly struck my, ahem, fancy:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://thingd-media-ec3.thefancy.com/default/509297324694969220_5a44db00d4fc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://thingd-media-ec3.thefancy.com/default/509297324694969220_5a44db00d4fc.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a>This is no ordinary lamp (ten points if you heard that in Jafar's voice). &nbsp;My Grandmother had a similar fixture in her house for as long as I can remember and just seeing it in a picture makes me so happy - imagine what I might feel if I owned it! &nbsp;Santa can you hear me??</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Santometer says: While this little gem is more within reach, Rudolph's nose is more likely to turn peach!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">5. &nbsp;<strike>World Peace</strike>&nbsp;A visit to Rockefeller center:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://newyorksightseeingtours.files.wordpress.com/2010/12/rockefeller-center-christmas-tree-ny.jpg?w=600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://newyorksightseeingtours.files.wordpress.com/2010/12/rockefeller-center-christmas-tree-ny.jpg?w=600" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I know there will be a zillion people. &nbsp;And it will be cold and probably even a little bit overwhelming, but wouldn't it be grand to visit, just once? &nbsp;Skate and eat hotdogs and count ornaments on a giant tree? &nbsp;Stay at the Plaza Hotel and pretend to be rich? &nbsp;Attend a Broadway show? &nbsp; No? &nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Santometer says: There's always next year.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-76892061063070657102013-12-09T00:35:00.000-07:002013-12-09T00:35:19.456-07:00This season...has been a hard one for me. &nbsp;For a lot of reasons, some of which I'll list (school, teaching, school, busy-ness, school...) and some of which I won't (........). &nbsp;I'm tired. &nbsp;To a degree that I have not experienced before. &nbsp;They told me going in (to the first semester of a Master's Degree and Teacher Certification combined) that this one would be the hardest. &nbsp;And it has been. &nbsp;Not because of the classes - those haven't been that bad, actually. &nbsp;But because of the amount of running around, planning, revising, running around some more, and missing my family that comes with those classes. &nbsp;I just keep telling myself to hang in there, it's almost done, only a little longer, and so on. &nbsp;And here I am at the end, still mostly in once piece.<br /><br />...has been a season of grief. &nbsp;Everywhere I look, I see people and things that I've lost. &nbsp;Eric's mom, Ann, seems to be whispering in my ear. &nbsp;I even dream about her on a regular basis. &nbsp;It's not that I don't want to feel her near, oh no, but more that it sneaks up on me and leaves me weak in the knees, remembering:&nbsp;Oh, yes, she's gone. &nbsp;And remembering this only circles me back around to those who followed after. &nbsp;My grandparents. &nbsp;Eric's Uncle Jim. &nbsp;Eric's dad, Sam ("Poppa"), my Uncle George. &nbsp;And suddenly I'm gutted.<br /><br />...has been magical for Carly. &nbsp;Perhaps the most magical almost-Christmas she has ever had. &nbsp;She looks on the world with the wonder in her eyes. &nbsp;Glistening, glimmering, glittering belief. &nbsp;"Santa is real," she says. &nbsp;"I know he is." &nbsp;She wonders what he will bring. &nbsp;She feasts on the excitement, shakes it up, listens to it, drinks it in. &nbsp;It is beautiful to see the season through her eyes. <br /><br />...has been a time of change. &nbsp;Readjustment. &nbsp;Hard conversations with reality. <br /><br />...has been a happy one, too. &nbsp;Puffy white snow. &nbsp;Christmas carols. &nbsp;Wrapped presents all ready to go. &nbsp;I keep thinking about how lucky I am (we are). &nbsp;I have a warm house to sleep in. &nbsp;A car to drive. &nbsp;Presents to wrap. &nbsp;My children know "want" but not "need." &nbsp;Yes, this right now is hard. &nbsp;But I will get through it and good things wait on the other side. &nbsp;Perhaps my belief does not run so deep or so strong as Carly's, but it's there. &nbsp;Glistening, glimmering, glittering. &nbsp;God is real, I know He is.<br /><br /><br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-31167635817111889392013-10-29T22:07:00.000-06:002013-10-29T22:07:11.293-06:00Joshua<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wHI0lTLLLko/UnCFTgNM15I/AAAAAAAABd0/J5tLZiwHkbk/s1600/Waterfall+Josh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wHI0lTLLLko/UnCFTgNM15I/AAAAAAAABd0/J5tLZiwHkbk/s320/Waterfall+Josh.jpg" width="320" /></a>I looked at you and I thought<br />Oh, that's what this is.<br />It's brimming over with pride,<br />screaming inside with fear,<br />falling all over myself,<br />I'm sorry I said that,<br />Can we start over,<br />Green, blue, gold,<br />And red. <br /><br />I looked at you and I thought<br />How did we get here?<br />This place where the words echo<br />Flying between us like projectiles<br />Sharp and sweet and smothering.<br />When did we make that turn<br />And suddenly arrive in new territory<br />Where you are almost grown<br />And I am running behind<br />Trying to catch up.<br /><br />I looked at you and I thought<br />I see me<br />In your eyes, in your face, in your smile<br />I see the puzzle pieces fit together<br />But somewhat out of order<br />And with landscapes<br />I don't recognize<br />Places I have<br />Never been.<br /><br />I looked at you and I thought<br />You are still mine.<br />You will always be mine.<br />These broken moments<br />Are only fragments<br />of what we are<br />Who we are<br />Who we can be<br />Who we will be<br />Together.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-26360871639619004562013-09-25T01:20:00.000-06:002013-09-25T01:20:04.049-06:00Then again...There is this moment when the thing we fear becomes like an animal in a cage. &nbsp;We feed it, give it treats, reach into to steal a stroke, tease it, name it, watch it pace in front of the bars. &nbsp;We get comfortable with it and begin to lose the tightness in our belly. &nbsp;We begin to believe our feelings were not justified, that we were just being silly. &nbsp;We begin to make friends with that animal in the cage and we decide to let it out, to see if it has suddenly become civilized. &nbsp;Inevitably, it has not and then comes the bloody, broken mess on the floor that we have to clean up even as we know we created the mess and we don't want to see that thing we've let loose. &nbsp;And we have to put it back in the cage, the struggle ensues, and we are irrevocably scarred by the experience only to begin the process again.<br /><br />Lately I seem to be reading, talking, thinking, talking, watching, talking about inclusion and diversity. &nbsp;As if one of those things is somehow more valuable than the other, as if we can find the perfect balance of what it means to be a person in this skin, in this body, in this place, in these conditions. &nbsp;We can define it, name it, put it in the cage and watch it rail against the boundaries we have made, knowing it cannot get out. <br /><br />Sometimes I am irritated by just how much attention is paid to our differences. &nbsp;It's as if we cannot recognize each other without first drawing a little mental picture of what sets us apart. &nbsp;You are tall, I am short. &nbsp;You are rich, I am poor. &nbsp;You are black, I am white. &nbsp;You are boy, I am girl. &nbsp;Exploring all of these, listing them, until we've got some common ground somewhere. &nbsp;As if being human in the first place was not enough, as if sharing the same space, the same air, the same moment in time is not good enough for forging a bond and putting us square. &nbsp;First, let me identify you, assign you a role, and then I can acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, you defy that role. &nbsp;Diversity (fists in the air to emphasize the point)! &nbsp;Look how much we don't share!<br /><br />And yet, I am not allowed to point out these differences at all. &nbsp;They must be unspoken. &nbsp;Little markers to measure each other by, but always on the down-low as if the words themselves carry some sort of power to define us. &nbsp;I must include you, after all you fit the category or close enough to it. &nbsp;I must include you despite how glaringly you do not fit the bill and I must not ever explain why I thought you might not want to come along. &nbsp;That is wrong. &nbsp;Because, inclusion! &nbsp;Inclusion!<br /><br />You might be reading me all wrong here. &nbsp;Let me be clear: My daughter is black and it's wonderful. &nbsp;I don't spend a lot of time thinking about how she is black and I am white and WOW! we are suddenly so very different. &nbsp;I do want her to understand the culture that is uniquely hers, the one I cannot belong to no matter how much I might admire it. I do talk about those floating concepts like adoption. &nbsp;I do at times worry that she might not know how to answer those inevitable questions, those eyebrows raised in surprise, those second glances that happen when people suddenly realize I am her mom. &nbsp;And they do happen. &nbsp;Often. &nbsp;I do spend time noticing how beautiful her skin is in the light, or how vivid the whites of her eyes are in the dark, how markedly different the bottoms of her feet are to the rest of her foot. &nbsp;So does she, for the record, without any prompting from me. &nbsp;She wants to know why this is and how it changes things. &nbsp;It doesn't, not really, except that maybe I have a greater appreciation for the body and how it defies convention. &nbsp;How it does not notice it is different, but goes on trying to work, full steam. &nbsp;I love that somehow she is quite particularly my daughter in so many ways and without any effort on either part. &nbsp;Nature versus nurture forgets there is a God and His hand brought her here.<br /><br />But back to that caged animal. <br /><br />I feel really defensive when I read narratives about how differently we treat people based on their status as black, white, male, female, Hispanic, immigrant, on and on. &nbsp;OF COURSE we do, and not always, often not, in good ways because we are people and inherently prone to making stupid choices. &nbsp;We excel at being stupid about this kind of thing. &nbsp;I wonder, though, how much we bang this drum because we want to hear the noise of it. &nbsp;How much we create lines between us because we are afraid or ignorant or irresponsible or just plain mean. &nbsp;There is the line! &nbsp;See it! &nbsp;Don't touch it! &nbsp;It might move! &nbsp;But, don't forget about it! &nbsp;In fact, we better celebrate it! &nbsp;I wonder why we spend so much time calling it something: racism, sexism, classism, isolationism - so many isms. &nbsp;When really, all along, it is just one thing: We've forgotten who we are. &nbsp;Humans. &nbsp;People. &nbsp;Children of God. &nbsp;Or, even if you prefer, members of the same species. &nbsp;We are the same, but our colors are as bright and glorious as a butterfly's wing. &nbsp;And until that beauty becomes the thing we talk about most because it is beautiful, I fear it will continue to be that caged animal. &nbsp;Locked up, separated, afraid and dangerous. &nbsp;Something we look at and talk about and tease. &nbsp;Something to fear simply because it has not been understood.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10003909.post-92033828623493954902013-08-27T23:25:00.000-06:002013-08-27T23:25:15.682-06:00A note for my sister and a poemDear Charlotte,<br /><br />Carly was baptized on Saturday. &nbsp;After some stress and movie trouble and programs printed wrong twice in a row, it went off without a hitch. &nbsp;Carly wore a lovely white dress which you made and she positively glowed. &nbsp;I've never been hugged so tight by the starfish child as when she came to me out of the font. <br /><br />When I took you to the airport, a most odious task I always dread because it means you are leaving, you thanked me for letting you participate in Carly's baptism and life in general. &nbsp;It caught me off guard, I'm sure you noticed. &nbsp;Because, I can't image it any other way. &nbsp;If anything, I wish I had you more. &nbsp;More tickling and laughing and comforting and loving. &nbsp;Because you give all that you have so freely. &nbsp;Because you make way and make time and make efforts beyond what's minimally required by ties of "family". &nbsp;Because I cannot remember a time in my life where I have not admired you. &nbsp;Although perhaps you doubted that was true when I refused to listen, kept a messy room despite your efforts to keep our shared space clean, and generally annoyed you. &nbsp;That's what baby sisters do, I think. &nbsp;But, I digress. <br /><br />I wrote this little poem for you tonight. &nbsp;Perhaps not great literature and it certainly doesn't rhyme, but it says what's in my heart right now, this moment. &nbsp;It says, it means, I love you. &nbsp;I thank you. &nbsp;I miss you.<br /><br /><br /><i>Aunt Charlotte</i><br />She came to me on gossamer wings<br /><div class="MsoNormal">All velvet skin and dew kissed eyes</div><div class="MsoNormal">And I loved her.</div><div class="MsoNormal">And I held her close.</div><div class="MsoNormal">And I called her mine;</div><div class="MsoNormal">Even though she did not grow inside this belly</div><div class="MsoNormal">She has always lived inside this heart.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And I called her yours</div><div class="MsoNormal">Because you are my sister and friend</div><div class="MsoNormal">My guide and sage;</div><div class="MsoNormal">And we held her close.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Some bonds are born outside the body</div><div class="MsoNormal">Nurtured, fed, tickled into being.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Some begin the moment we meet, </div><div class="MsoNormal">Skin against skin;</div><div class="MsoNormal">But others, the most important,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Began long before,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Before memory, before bodies, before being.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And because you are my sister and friend,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ours is that old kind of bond;</div><div class="MsoNormal">Satin ribbon, woven lace, steel.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I choose you, as you chose me,</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And together she is ours.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Love,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Me</i></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492731241985234445noreply@blogger.com1